Department Store Dalliance

This might be the perfect shirt: black, with just enough of a sheen to impress without overdoing it. Yes, this is it, Stephen thought, holding it up before him. This should be just right. At least he hoped.

He lowered the shirt, ready to take it to the register, and if he'd held it up a moment longer he would have missed her. But he didn't.

Stephen lowered the shirt, and it was like an artist pulling the cloth from a sculpture. There she was. When he lowered the shirt, she came striding across his vision, the department store an impressionistic blur behind her. He stared helplessly.

She wore a pale yellow blouse and a brown skirt, which fell halfway between her knees and hips. Her legs were bare, so naked skin stretched to her ankles and was visible where her blouse fell open, one more button undone than most would have dared. Everything fit her perfectly, the clothes she wore seeming to caress her, seeming to brush against her skin lovingly. She wasn't sexy. She was sex. She was Sex, a heretofore unnamed Roman goddess.

Debra turned, having caught Stephen staring, but she only looked momentarily surprised, and then she smiled, her glossy lips parting just enough to reveal pearly tips.

Stephen looked down, and then up again, blushing, thinking he should look away—that would be the polite thing—but he couldn't.

She stopped.

Stephen's heart seemed to miss a beat.

Debra hesitated for only a second before going to him.

"You look like you need some help," she said.

Was she flirting with him? Just toying with him to make him squirm after catching him gawking at her? "I—I can't decide on a shirt," he said. "What do you think?"

She looked at the shirt he held up. "Let me see," Debra said, taking it from him. She held it against his shoulders and he almost flinched at her touch, so unexpected, but then so welcome. The position of her arms as she held the shirt made the space between the two buttons over her breasts open and he could see a hint of lace there—a white bra, he thought, but it was too much in shadow to tell for certain.

She looked down and then up again, smiling wider. She had caught him again. She pulled the shirt away and it fell to the floor.

"Whoops," she said, and bent to retrieve it. She picked it up just a heartbeat too slowly, and bent in such a way that it must have been intentional—she must have known that she was gifting him with a lingering view down her blouse. The creamy skin of her breasts curved into the valley created by her bra cupping her, lifting just so, and Stephen could see that the lace was not white at all but pink and quite sheer. In that blessed moment he thought he could see a hint of her areolas through the lace.

"I think the shirt's perfect," Debra said, "but you can't get a new shirt and not get new pants too. What's the occasion, anyway? A hot date?"

"Uh," Stephen laughed nervously, "a blind date actually. And my name's Stephen."

"I'm Debra, and in that case you'll definitely need the pants. Come on."

He stared at her bottom as she went in search of pants. He thought he could see a hint of panty lines in the shape of bikinis—he was always disappointed by thongs and believed there was little more beautiful than the sight of full-backed panties stretched across a woman's bottom. He wondered if her panties were pink and lacy like her bra. He was sure she would match.

Oh my god he thought as she bent her knees and crouched down to sift through pants on a shelf near the floor.

"What size are you?" she asked.

He told her, thankful he had the shirt to hold in front of him to hide his erection. He could see her thighs and stared longingly into the darkness where her panties musty be, if only there were a little more light shining into that tunnel.

She'd insisted he try the pants and shirt on. Of course he obliged, but in the dressing room he realized that his cock was not going to soften. He couldn't stop replaying the view down her shirt and of her legs. He had no choice but to walk out of the dressing room in his new outfit, with his old clothes used to cover his erect state, but she was sure to notice.

"Why didn't you leave those in the dressing room?" she asked.

"Uh, I've heard that a lot of people are getting their stuff stolen out of dressing rooms . . . I saw it on the news," he attempted.

"You're silly," she said, "give me those." She took his clothes and placed them on the nearest clothes rack. He was totally exposed, standing in front of the three-way mirror and having his erection reflected to infinity.

She stood behind him, very obviously staring at his hard-on. Her seeing should have shamed it into retreat, but it had the opposite effect, causing his cock to throb, almost painfully. He wouldn't have believed it would be possible to cum in his pants just from looking at someone, but the effect she was having on him made him afraid that that might actually happen.

"Oh, those pants look good on you. She put her hand on his hip. "Really good, but let's check the length." She crouched down again, her hand sliding from his hip all the way down his leg, where she shook the cuff of his pants. "Perfect."

In the mirror he could only stare because her legs were parted enough that he could see easily up her skirt. Her panties were indeed pink lace and incredibly sheer. Through the gauzy pink material shone a mass of black hair.

"Oh God," he moaned, unable to help it. He couldn't take his eyes from her panties even as she unzipped his pants. The sight up a woman's skirt always sent shivers through him—it was his particular kink, for as long as he could remember. But he'd never seen anything so perfect—the yellow blouse, the brown skirt framing those smooth thighs, between which that delicate pink lace gave way to her jet black curls. Firecracker jolts of electricity went off up and down his body, the perfect storm of erotic longing.

"I see you like my panties," Debra said, and then they were gone as she swiveled to take his cock in her mouth—and he hadn't even realized she'd pulled it from his pants and out into the air.

But her panties weren't gone at all. He could still see them in his mind's eye as her warm mouth took him in and her tongue stroked him. And his mind filled in what he hadn't actually seen—the way her panties cut across her hips and swept over her bottom, the material there stretched and filled with that plump flesh before curving down and up between her thighs to spread over that place of moisture and warmth, that place where he wanted to be, where he wanted to taste. Everything disappeared but that most perfect of all views, the one he never even could have dreamed of dreaming.

He came with the sensation of falling from a great height, free falling as he spurted and spurted, his world exploding, drenching those pretty panties with his cum—and when he realized where he was, flat on his back in front of the three-way mirror, with a young female clerk crying out in alarm, his cock pointing at the ceiling, cum dripping from it, only then did he realize she was gone, and her panties had been dropped on his chest.